


Introspection

by little0bird



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Death Star, Emotions, Grief/Mourning, Kallus' childhood, M/M, Post-Battle of Yavin, Reckoning with the Past, Reconciling his past as an Imp, Wullf Yularen - Freeform, Yavin IV, drunk Kallus, kallus' past, kalluzeb - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: Kallus discovers Yularen was on the Death Star and has complicated feelings about it.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 17
Kudos: 91





	1. Grief

The celebrations had the intense energy of a people whose occasions to do so were few and far between, knowing their time was limited. By morning, they would initiate evacuation procedures and make their way to the new base. The Empire would surely investigate when no one on the Death Star responded to messages from Coruscant. It was little surprise that no one noticed he’d left with a datapad in one hand and an expensive bottle of brandy from Naboo that had been “liberated” from an Imperial cargo ship in the other. Kallus tucked the datapad under his arm and yanked the cork from the bottle, tossing it into the jungle. He took a sip of the liquor, humming with pleasure. It was good. Very good. Better than that Corellian swill he’d shared with Kanan before he went off to Mandalore. Kallus raised the bottle in a toast to the dead Jedi, and took a hefty swallow. Night fell quickly on Yavin IV, but Kallus knew the way to his destination and could find it blindfolded if necessary.

The music blaring from Zeb’s receiver faded as he approached the ruins of one of the smaller temples and climbed to one of the lower terraces. Kallus lifted the bottle to his lips and swigged the potent Naboolian brandy like it was cheap starshine hooch from Tatooine. His fingers and toes tingled with a pleasant warmth. Only then did he fumble with the switch on the datapad and pull up the manifest for the Death Star. In the frenzy to analyze the plans of the battlestation, the manifest had merely been noted and set aside. A grim smirk appeared on his face when he saw _Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin_. He tapped the tab for ISB personnel and took another hefty swallow of brandy before he looked down at the list of officers.

_Colonel Wullf Yularin_.

It felt wrong to mourn him.

If felt wrong to _not_ mourn him.

Kallus shuddered and unheeded tears trickled from the corners of his eyes.

‘Ya left the party.’ Zeb emerged from the jungle, climbing easily to Kallus’ perch.

‘Don’t belong there.’ Kallus winced. It sounded petulant and childish to his own ears. To cover his embarrassment, he tilted the bottle over his lips.

‘Of course ya do.’

‘I don’t, Garazeb,’ he insisted, slurring the “r” of Zeb’s given name.

Zeb peeled his fingers from the neck of the bottle and passed the opening under his twitching nose. ‘That’s some strong stuff ya been drinkin’.’

‘You should have some. Celebrate.’ Kallus waved the hand still clutching the datapad back toward the main base. Zeb gently enclosed his wrist with his hand and tugged the datapad from him before Kallus could smack him in the face with it. His ears winged back as he read the screen, then peered at Kallus’ face, thumbing at the tearstains on his cheeks.

‘Why’re you weeping for an Imp?’

‘I _was_ an Imp for nearly half my kriffing life, Garazeb. I can’t forget I knew them.’ Kallus draped himself over Zeb’s knee, bottom jutting into the air while he groped for the bottle. He slid back to the terrace and swallowed more brandy, smacking his lips. He eyed Zeb over the mouth of the bottle. Enemy… ally… friend… and now lover. And still so much he never dared to reveal, lest Zeb think he was too damaged to bother with. ‘Never told you ‘bout my childhood, did I?’

One of Zeb’s ears swiveled upright. ’No.’ He’d asked. More than a few times, but Kallus had always demurred or made excuses.

‘Grew up on the surface of Coruscant,’ he intoned. ‘Ooooonnnnnn the surface. Not one of the upper levels.’ He leaned closer to Zeb. ‘Didn’t always sound like this. Like I have an electrostaff shoved up my ass.’

Zeb combed Kallus’ sweaty hair back from his forehead. ‘I like the way ya talk, Alex. Nothin’ sexier than hearin’ the absolute filth that comes outta that prim and proper mouth of yours.’

'When I lef’ to go to the Academy, I talked like Coruscanti surface trash,' Kallus continued, as if Zeb hadn't spoken. 'Tried to talk with a better Coruscanti accent than all of the topsiders. Got smacked aroun’ by some of the others. Said I was a snob.’ He swilled more brandy. ‘M’parents were… common laborers. Dunno what happened to them. Never saw ‘em again after I went into th’ Royal Academy when I was fourteen.’ He wheezed with sudden laughter. ‘I think,’ he said, jabbing Zeb’s arm for emphasis, ‘they lef’ Coruscant. And never tol’ me.’ By now the level of the liquid in the bottle was significantly lower. ‘Yu-Yu-Yularen taught me. Saw somethin’ in me I didn’t see. Guided me. He wasss th’ father I never had. Wouldn’t’ve been as good without him.’ He poked Zeb a little harder. ‘Wouldn’t’ve met _you_ without him.’ He blinked owlishly in the direction if the main base. ‘Don’t think they’d get it.’

‘ _I_ don’t get it,’ Zeb grumbled. ‘Yularen would’ve executed ya in a heartbeat.’

_‘_ Y’know why stormtroopers can’t hit the broad side of a Star Destroyer?’ Kallus sat upright, his eyes round.

‘Can’t say I ever cared about bucketheads. Was just glad they missed more’n they didn’t.’

‘There’s no shortage of poor, hungry, and desperate people in the galaxy. So they join. An’ the Empire jus’ hands ‘em a blaster, gives ‘em three reg’lar meals a day, shelter… So what if you’re part of a machine that murders millions of innocent people?’

Zeb took the bottle from Kallus’ lax fingers and upended the bottle over the edge of the terrace.

‘Hey!’ Kallus protested. ‘Tha’s mine!’

‘Time for ya to go to bed,’ Zeb declared, shoving the datapad into a pocket, and then hoisted Kallus over his shoulder. The other man burped wetly, making the Lasat grimace. ’Swear to Ashla, Alexsandr, if ya throw up all over me, I’ll make ya bunk with Rex tonight. An’ ya know how loud he snores.’

‘Wh-wh-whatever you say, Cap’n Orrelios,’ Kallus hiccuped and squeezed the curve of Zeb’s arse, then gave it a hearty slap. ‘You smell nice.’

‘M’not gonna kriff ya like this, Alex. I’ve got standards.’ Zeb began to pray that Kallus would fall asleep or pass out before he said something else that would cast suspicion on his loyalties. He picked his way back through the jungle to the _Ghost_ and stole up the ramp and into his bunk. He set Kallus on the bed, and pulled off his boots before urging him to lie down. Zeb used one of his feet to drag a wastebin next to the bed and angled Kallus head over it. ‘Try to be sick in the bin, and not all over my pillow, yah?’

‘Yessssirrrrr, Cap’n!’ Kallus gave him a sloppy salute, then settled into the bed and fell asleep, mouth half-open.

Zeb left his bunk with a sigh and made his way to the cockpit, settling into the co-pilot’s chair. The party would probably go on until the wee hours of the morning. It was highly likely that a good number of them would perform their duties for the evacuation hungover. Unless they managed to see a medical droid first. He had to hand it to the Rebels. They worked hard, and when the opportunity arose, caroused even harder. Not for the first time, he wished Kanan were here and tried to think of what he would say. _People are complicated. And so are their emotions._ That was certainly an understatement if Zeb had ever heard one. He glanced over his shoulder at the door of Hera’s bunk. She would probably tell him it would be immature to begrudge Kallus’ emotions. Zeb pulled the datapad from his pocket and tossed it onto a console. It wasn’t as though Kallas grieved over every last Imp on the Death Star. Zeb supposed he could give him this one, even though he didn’t like or understand it.

Figuring sleep would prove elusive this night, Zeb pushed himself to his feet and left the _Ghost_ , heading to Kallus’ utilitarian bunk in the main base. The very least he could do would be to pack up Kallus’ things, although knowing him like he did, everything was likely put away in his footlocker with military precision, and all he would have to do is carry it from the base into _Ghost._

In the morning, they would start all over again.


	2. Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The destruction of the Death Star from Zeb's perspective.

Zeb stood in the back of the command center, hands braced on his hips, watching the image of the Death Star creep inexorably toward Yavin IV. The sound of a chair scraping across the stone floor made him glance up, ears swivelling upright with undisguised astonishment. Kallus removed his headset, dropped it on his workstation, and then walked out of the temple without looking back. Not once in the year that Kallus had worked in Rebel intelligence had he left his post like this. Zeb loped after him, blinking at the bright daylight. He could see a crescent of the Death Star, glimmering in the cloudless, pearly sky. His eyes widened. It was huge. It had been difficult to appreciate how large it was when viewed strictly through the stolen plans. Kallus stood on the edge of the landing pad, eyes trained on the looming battlestation. He clasped his hands together in the small of his back, shoulders squared, spine perfectly straight. The posture of a perfect Imp. He rested a hand on Kallus’ shoulder, and he jerked in surprise. He’d been so focused on their imminent doom, he clearly hadn’t heard Zeb approach. ‘Ya left your station.’

‘My work is done. They don’t need me right now.’ He drew Zeb to stand next to him, and slid an arm around his waist. ‘I will be damned if I die inside.’ His eyes narrowed as more of the Death Star slid into view. ‘If I die today, it will be facing the fucking Empire and not staring at a datapad.’

‘Go down fightin’?’ Zeb’s brow cocked upward. 

‘Something like that…’ Zeb’s eyes slid sideways. Kallus’ already fair skin paled even more as the Death Star floated fully into the horizon. ‘I hope…’ Kallus gulped, unable to force the words from his tongue. He turned to Zeb, rising on his toes, then pressed their foreheads together. 

‘Yeh. Me, too…’ 

A blinding flash seared their retinas. The both flinched, turning their faces away. Zeb hoped if the end came, it was painless. 

Then the raucous cheers drifted faintly from the temple, and Zeb’s eyes snapped open. ‘Alex,’ he breathed. ‘They did it.’

Kallus’ eyes opened slowly. Where the Death Star had hovered menacingly, was now a cloud of debris and fire. He tucked his head under Zeb’s chin, then inhaled deeply and exhaled before stepping back. It was all he would allow himself just now. ‘You’d better get _Ghost_ ready. We’re probably going to evacuate in the next day or so. Even if they were on radio silence — and it’s likely they were because of the secrecy around the Death Star — the Empire will figure out we’re here. They’re sure to send a flotilla of Star Destroyers when no one from the Death Star reports back to Coruscant.’ Kallus pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Time to go eavesdrop on Imperial communications…’ He tilted his head from side to side, producing several eye-watering cracks. 

‘Hey…’ Zeb brushed a lock of hair from Kallus’ eyes. ‘Don’t forget to celebrate a little, in between slicing and eavesdropping on the Empire.’

‘I do hope that’s an invitation.’ The corner of Kallus’ mouth curved upward. 

Zeb felt his own mouth lift in an answering smile. The backs of his fingers brushed over Kallus’ cheek. ‘Consider it a _promise._ ’

Something feral lit Kallus’ hazel eyes, turning them into molten gold. ‘I’ll find you.’

Zeb watched him stride back into the temple, looking straight ahead, bypassing the knots of celebrating Rebels, mind already on his next task. He took his datapad from his pocket and pulled up the evacuation procedures, then shamelessly used Hera’s code to ensure Kallus was assigned to _Ghost_. If nothing else, he could lock the obstinate man into his bunk and ensure he actually rested for once. 

* * *

Zeb glanced up from the wires in his hands. Kallus emerged from the temple, blinking in the dazzling floodlights that illuminated the landing pad. ‘Alex!’ He waved one hand overhead to get his attention, before plugging his receiver into an amplifier. He fiddled with the controls until something brassy with an urgent beat blasted from the amplifier. Zeb beamed at Sabine, then took her hand, twirling her into a laughing whirl of a dance. Even Hera had joined the party, Jacen in her arms. Wedge clapped him on the back. ‘Where’s Kallus?’ he shouted over the music.

Zeb scanned the landing pad. No tell-tale gold hair glinting under the floodlights. Zeb looked back at Wedge and shrugged, then set off for the command center. He was fairly certain he’d have to physically drag him away from his headset, datapad, and terminal. ‘Alex?’ Kallus’ workstation had already been broken down and packed, labelled with Kallus’ angular, tidy Aurebesh. Zeb then headed for the staircase that led to the living quarters. The door to Kallus’ bunk was closed and locked. Zeb’s sensitive ears swivelled toward the sounds that drifted from beneath the crack between the door and the floor. He could pick out at least three individual voices. One belonged to Kallus’ bunkmate, Gavyn. The other two belonged to a Rodian and a Twi’lek. It sounded as though they were having a raucous celebration amongst themselves. 

There was only one other place he would have gone. One of the abandoned temples that no one used. Coming from the relative isolation of his life as an ISB agent to the Rebel base, where solitude was an anomaly, had been a hard adjustment. Every so often, he escaped to this smaller satellite temple to get away from the press of people for an hour or two with a trashy holobook that had absolutely no literary merit whatsoever. He claimed it was all one could find amongst the Rebels, but Zeb knew he enjoyed every lascivious word of them. Only because it was one of the few occasions where Kallus managed to stop thinking about intelligence data and how to employ it best aid the Rebellion. At Zeb’s prodding, he and Kallus often brought their evening meals to this temple, eager to find a deserted corner of the base. If they ate here, Kallus was less likely to shovel food into his mouth with one hand, while he scrolled through a datapad with the other, trying to find any weakness to exploit within the Empire. It was also far more private here than anywhere else on the base. For all his external polish, Kallus was a noisy bugger in the throes of passion. He had invited Zeb into his bed on the terrace of this temple, by the simple expedient of removing his clothing. The Empire had stripped away the softness in his vocabulary, so he had chosen the most unambiguous method he knew. Even now words of tenderness and affection didn’t come easily, but Zeb knew the love was there in what he did rather than what he said.

Kallus was easy to spot against the grey stones and jungle greenery with his russet shirt and golden hair, even in the growing darkness, thanks to the faint light emanating from the datapad. Zeb leaned against a tree and watched him drink straight from a bottle and study a datapad. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Like most of the other Imperial defectors, Kallus pushed himself to the breaking point on a regular basis in a fervent desire to make reparation for their past deeds. Even during a celebration. Ashla only knew what he was doing right now. 

Zeb eschewed the narrow stairs to the terrace and climbed up the side. Any kit over the age of five could have climbed it without using their claws.  ‘Ya left the party,’ he commented, his tone light.

‘Don’t belong there,’ Kallus mumbled, then took another long pull from the bottle. 

Kallus had devoted nearly every waking moment to the Rebellion. Which was more than Zeb could say of that Corellian smuggler, who just wanted to get paid and leave. Yeah, sure, he helped clear the way for that Skywalker kid in the end, but Zeb had his doubts that it merited a kriffing medal. Besides, it was glaringly obvious Leia wanted to bed the man. The scent practically radiated off her in waves. Zeb couldn’t understand why nobody else could smell it. He lowered himself to the sun-warmed stone. ‘Of course ya do.’

‘I don’t, Garazeb,’ he drawled, slurring the “r” in Zeb’s name. 

One of Zeb’s brows quirked upward. Kallus’ Lasan was better than most humans. While he wasn’t quite completely fluent, he could actually pronounce the difficult “r” sounds that most humans either truncated or blurred. He could count on one hand how many times Kallus had been so drunk that his precise accent slipped. Zeb loosened Kallus’ death grip on the bottle and gave it a sniff. The heady aroma tickled his senses. He squinted at label. I t contained Naboolian brandy, in the signature blue-green glass bottles of the Palpatine family vineyards. Zeb studied the Auerbesh characters etched into the glass. _7958 C.R.C._ This was something meant to be savored, not chugged like seedy cantina ale.  He snorted, lifted the bottle in a sketchy salute, then took a sip and let it slide down his throat, leaving a gentle warmth in its wake. He could think of no better way to celebrate than to quaff a stolen bottle of the Emperor’s brandy that was as old as the Empire itself.  ‘That’s some strong stuff ya been drinkin’.’ 

‘You should have some. Celebrate.’ 

Zeb had to lean back so Kallus’ wild gesture didn’t introduce the datapad to his face. Zeb circled his wrist with one hand, while yanking the datapad away with his other. Zeb glanced down, and felt his ears flatten against the side of his head when he saw what Kallus had been reading. The list of ISB agents that had been onboard the Death Star. The surface of the datapad was smudged over one name, as if Kallus had repeatedly rubbed his fingertip over it. _Colonel Wullf Yularen._ The fading light glinted on the tearstains on Kallus’ cheeks. He ran his thumb over one cheek, then the other, feeling more than a little aggrieved. ‘Why’re you weeping for an Imp?’

Kallus’ head whipped around, eyes full of indignant hurt. ‘I _was_ an Imp for nearly half my kriffing life, Garazeb. I can’t forget I knew them.’ Kallus let out an disgruntled snort, then all but threw himself over Zeb’s lap, his arse bobbing in Zeb’s face as he reached for the brandy bottle. He melted back to the terrace floor and drank like the alcohol was his mother’s milk. ‘Never told you ‘bout my childhood, did I?’ he asked abruptly.

One of Zeb’s ears swiveled upright. ’No.’ The subject had come up a few times, but Kallus always managed to change the subject. Zeb reckoned he was embarrassed about something. Which was foolish. But he supposed, like everyone, Kallus had his pride. Zeb just barely managed to school his features into something neutral when Kallus admitted to growing up on the surface of Coruscant. Little wonder he didn’t like to talk about it. It went a long way to explain the origin of his inhuman drive to succeed. How much harder did he have to work to overcome the indifferent education endemic in the poorer areas of Coruscant? How much effort had he expended in order to make everyone forget he came from the surface, not the elite? Kallus shoved his face into Zeb’s, sending brandy fumes washing over them. ‘Didn’t always sound like this. Like I have an electrostaff shoved up my ass.’

Zeb ran his fingers through Kallus’ sweaty hair. He could listen to Kallus read inventory reports all day with that voice. He particularly enjoyed the juxtaposition of the smooth, cultured Coruscanti accent and extraordinary raunchiness of his speech when they were in bed. ‘I like the way ya talk, Alex. Nothin’ sexier than hearin’ the absolute filth that comes outta that prim and proper mouth of yours.’

‘When I lef’ to go to the Academy, I talked like Coruscanti surface trash.’ Kallus rambled on as if Zeb hadn’t spoken. ‘Tried to talk with a better Coruscanti accent than all of the topsiders. Got smacked aroun’ by some of the others. Said I was a snob.’ Kallus’ eyes were wide and guileless. ‘M’parents were… common laborers. Dunno what happened to them. Never saw ‘em again after I went into th’ Royal Academy when I was fourteen.’ He snorted with sudden mirth. ‘I think, they lef’ Coruscant. And never tol’ me.’ He poked Zeb in his arm. Yet another thing to despise the Empire for. They’d effectively orphaned a child. Zen wondered if the Empire had simply paid Kallus’ parents to leave and cut off all contact with him. He wouldn’t put it past the Imps to do so in order to ensure their recruit’s loyalty lay with the Empire and not their families. Kallus waxed rhapsodic about Yularen and how he’d filled some sort of parental role to his adolescent self. Zeb eyed the level of the liquid sloshing in the bottle. Only a few inches remained. ‘Wouldn’t’ve met _you_ without him,’ Kallus declared of Yularen’s influence. He slowly collapsed in on himself, as he gazed in the direction of the main base. ‘Don’t think they’d get it.’

‘ _I_ don’t get it,’ Zeb admitted. ‘Yularen would’ve executed ya in a heartbeat.’ Despite the rumors that Yularen wasn’t a steadfast believer in the Empire, he would have followed orders to dispose of a troublesome Rebel spy. How could Kallus even consider mourning the loss of someone who would have killed him without a second thought?

A thought seemed to occur to Kallus. _‘_ Y’know why stormtroopers can’t hit the broad side of a Star Destroyer?’ 

‘Can’t say I ever cared about bucketheads,’ Zeb told him. ‘Was just glad they missed more’n they didn’t.’

Kallus straightened his shoulders as though he were going to deliver a lecture on the foibles of the Empire. ‘There’s no shortage of poor, hungry, an’ desperate people in the galaxy. So they join. An’ the Empire jus’ hands ‘em a blaster, gives ‘em three reg’lar meals a day, shelter… So what if you’re part of a machine that murders millions of innocent people?’

Zeb took the bottle as though he were going to have a drink, then poured it off the edge and threw the bottle into the trees. If Kallus drank any more, he was going to start humanizing the rest of the Imps, and Zeb needed to think of them as faceless, impersonal sleemos so he didn’t feel more than a twinge of guilt for killing them. If he thought of them as desperate farm boys, he might start to feel pity. 

‘Hey! Tha’s mine!’

‘Time for ya to go to bed,’ Zeb stated, shoving the datapad into a pocket of his jumpsuit. He heaved Kallus over his shoulder, shuddering with evident distaste when he belched with a wet undertone. Removing vomit from his fur and clothing was not high on his priority list tonight. ’Swear to Ashla, Alexsandr, if ya throw up all over me, I’ll make ya bunk with Rex tonight,’ he grumbled. ‘An’ ya know how loud he snores.’ 

‘Wh-wh-whatever you say, Cap’n Orrelios,’ Kallus hiccuped. Zeb felt his hands roam over his ass, then give it what Kallus obviously considered a seductive squeeze, followed by a smack that Zeb would have welcomed had his mate been sober. Kallus buried his face in the back of Zeb’s jumpsuit. ‘You smell nice,’ he singsonged.

Zeb rolled his eyes. Kallus had to be one of the only humans he knew who found the scent of a Lasat male arousing. ‘M’not gonna kriff ya like this, Alex.’ _No matter how much you might want it._ ‘I’ve got standards,’ he added in an undertone. Zeb began to pray that Kallus would fall asleep or pass out before he said something else that would cast suspicion on his loyalties. He made his way back through the jungle to _Ghost_ and ducked into the cargo hold without being spotted. Zeb lowered Kallus to his bunk and removed his boots, tossing them into the corner, and then yanked off his shirt. Kallus wobbled and nearly pitched forward, but Zeb caught him and eased him to the mattress lying facedown, then covered him with a blanket. Zeb dragged a wastebin next to the bed and moved Kallus’ head so his mouth was more or less over it. ‘Try to be sick in the bin, and not all over my pillow, yah?’

‘Yessssirrrrr, Cap’n!’ Kallus saluted him haphazardly. He fell asleep, breath whistling through his half-open mouth.

* * *

The party in Kallus’ bunk seemed to have ended. Zeb strained to pick up any sounds, but he only heard silence. 

He held his breath as he tapped in the code to open the door, hoping he wasn’t going to walk in on the aftermath of the debauchery, but the room was, in fact, empty. It was always painfully obvious which side belonged to Kallus. Gavyn wasn’t a slob, exactly, but the messy bed and desk strewn with holobooks gave his side of the room a decidedly lived-in air. Alex had arrived to the Rebellion with nothing more than the Imperial uniform on his back, forced to leave behind his precious bo-rifle and the meteorite from  Bahyrn.  They had been the only possessions that had truly belonged to him, and not issued by the Empire. It wasn’t just the lack of personal touches. It was the precise order of his space. The bed made with effortless precision. Corners tucked in just so. Pillow mathematically aligned with the center of the mattress. Zeb flipped the footlocker open. It only held a few changes of clothes issued by the Rebellion and a set of spare sheets for his bed. 

The only thing that said with any certainty that Alexsandr Kallus lived here was the small hologram tucked into an alcove next to the bed. He and Kallus sprawled on crates, listening to something forbidden by the Empire on his receiver. Zeb remembered that moment. Just days after they liberated Lothal. When their smiles were still full of bashful delight and their touches still relatively chaste. Zeb picked up the hologram. Kallus’ head lay on his thigh, while Zeb idly combed through his hair. Zen sat heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling the transmitter in his palm. Anti-alien sentiment didn’t suddenly blossom the day the Republic fell. It brewed for a long time. Perhaps even as far back as the conflict with the Trade Federation. Maybe further At least in the Core Worlds. Certainly on Coruscant. The Empire brought was was said in the shadows into the light. As a result, it was relatively rare for those who lived within the confines of the Imperial military, steeped as it was in rigid xenophobia, to develop close friendships with aliens. It was even rarer to enter a romantic relationship relationship with one. For Kallus, it had been an act of rebellion every bit as profound as his defection. And yet, he mourned for the loss of someone who would just as soon throw him into a re-education prison, then ship his lover off to Kessel or some other Ashla-forsaken system as a slave. Zeb exhaled gustily through his nose. _Feelings are complicated_ , he reminded himself as he switched off the hologram, and carefully wrapped the transmitter inside one of Kallus’ spare shirts. 

The bed could be disassembled in a matter of minutes and stored in recesses built into the outer walls of the footlocker. A touch of a button compressed the mattress until it rolled up on itself. It could then fit inside the footlocker. Once everything was packed away, Zeb activated the anti-gravity settings, and pushed the footlocker into the corridor, then back to _Ghost._ He avoided the clusters of people still celebrating, waving or pausing for a quick conversation with those he couldn’t. Someone had turned the music’s volume down so it served as background noise, rather than the focal point. The sight of Kallus’ footlocker spurred a few others to go pack up their bunks for the evacuation, rather than wait until morning. ‘Wish my boyfriend would do mine,’ sighed one young engineer with an envious glance at Zeb, as she elbowed an equally young pilot in the ribs.

When he arrived back at _Ghost_ , Rex sat in the open doorway of the cargo bay, his feet propped up on an empty crate. He said nothing as Zeb maneuvered Kallus’ things into the hold, then deactivated the anti-gravity settings. Zeb picked up another empty crate and set it next to Rex’s chair. 

Rex cradled a dented flask between his palms. ‘How’s Kallus?’ Zeb gave him a sidelong glance. Rex chuckled softly. ‘Saw you carrying him up the ramp like a sack of Charbote roots.’

’Nothin’ a good sleep and a lot of water won’t cure.’ Zeb lifted his face to the breeze that rustled the leaves. ‘Feel sorry for him when Chop starts clangin’ about. Bound to have a helluva hangover.’

‘He know anybody on that thing?’ Rex made a vague gesture to the sky. 

Zeb flinched. It was a fair question. Kallus had been a fairly high-ranking officer in the ISB before he defected. As a battlestation, the Death Star would have its own contingent of Internal Affairs and Investigations agents. ‘Maybe.’ Rex held the flask out to him. Zeb took it and lifted it to his mouth. The spicy, fruity bouquet of dragonjuice exploded on his tongue. ‘One of his old Academy instructors.’ He took another sip of the dragonjuice, then handed the flask back to Rex. ‘Yularen.’

‘Ah…’ Rex lifted the flask in a sketchy salute and tossed back a swallow. ‘Damn shame. He was a good man.’ He shrugged with one shoulder. ‘Well, he was back when I knew him.’

Zeb’s ears stood upright. ‘You knew him, too?’

Rex nodded. ‘Served with him in the Clone Wars, with Obi-wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, and Ahsoka. A fine soldier. Skywalker broke every rule on a battlefield. Drove Yularen crazy. And me at times, come to think of it.’ He gestured with his thumb toward the crew quarters. ‘I’m going to go out on a limb and say he didn’t take it well.’

Zeb slouched on the crate. ‘Well, he wasn’t dancin’ for joy.’

Rex sipped from the flask, and fingered the scar on the side of his head. ‘It’s hard to know what to feel sometimes. Especially when your brothers are on the other side. War is messy like that.’ He offered the flask to Zeb, who took it with alacrity. 

‘Order 66…?’ Zeb guessed, passing the flask back to Rex.

The clone gave him a short nod. ‘Yeah. A little different, though. They weren’t themselves. Literally.’ He took a longer sip of dragonjuice. ‘I killed a few of them. Call it self-defense if you like. Heat of battle. Ahsoka and I managed to escape, but the Star Destroyer we were on crashed and killed everyone else on board. The Empire took my brothers from me. First with the chip, then when they died on that moon.’ He rubbed the back of his wrist under his nose. Zeb could detect the sting of long-held sorrow in Rex’s voice. ‘Felt inappropriate to mourn them. Felt dishonest not to. They were still my brothers.’ He pointed toward the landing pad with the flask. ‘Bet you more than one Imperial military defector is feeling the same way. Especially if they searched the manifest for someone they knew.’ He raised the flask to his mouth. ‘Ahhh. Didn’t mean to get so maudlin.’ 

’’S all right.’ Zeb knew all too well how introspection could veer into melancholy among soldiers. He slid off the crate and pushed it back into place in the hold. ‘Better try and get some sleep…’ He ascended the ladder to the crew quarters and slipped into his bunk. Kallus still slept, spread facedown on the lower bunk. Zeb contemplated hauling himself into the upper bunk, but it was cramped and narrower than the lower one. Besides, if Ezra ever came home, Zeb wouldn’t hear the end of it if Ezra’s pillow bore the slightest hint of Lasat. He peeled off his jumpsuit and gingerly climbed into the lower bunk, maneuvering his way over Kallus’ prone body, arranging himself between Kallus and the wall. 

Kallus stirred, instinctively reaching for Zeb in his sleep, fitting his head into the hollow of Zeb’s shoulder. Zeb used one leg to draw him closer. He studied Kallus’ face, lax with slumber. If he’d learned one thing from the Spectres, it was that love was a sort of compromise. At least as far as family was concerned. He’d never once considered the sort concessions one might make with their lover. The myriad and subtle give-and-take Kanan and Hera had navigated in their relationship had only begun to dawn on him when his relationship with Kallus shifted from friends to lovers. It hit particularly close to home tonight. 

Love meant loving all of Alexsandr Kallus. Even the parts he didn’t necessarily like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the plot bunny hops into your head... 
> 
> I had to explore what it all looked like from Zeb's point of view.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing a fluffy Kalluzeb fic, then this intruded. Like plot bunnies usually do. Infernal creatures. 
> 
> At first this was going to be slightly humourous, but well... it didn't stay that way, even though poor Zeb tried to inject some levity into it. For the record, I had a friend in graduate school whose parents did move and forgot to tell him... *koff*
> 
> And yes, when Kallus woke up and threw up, Zeb held his hair back. Like a good boyfriend should.


End file.
